Assassination
by MaplePucks
Summary: Prussia is fading. She has been sick for weeks now, wasting away the last of her strenght as a nation dwindling. Oliver knows it's time. Time for her suffering to end. And he wants to be the one to kill the nation. Curiosity is his motivator, blood and carnage is an occupational perk. All in a days work for the worlds leading assassin. *violence, language, 2P!England*


Hello all!

I have slightly, okay, a fair bit of a dark Prussia fic for you. Based on the nation fading, again. I've written like 3 on the topic. Warning, this has got some pretty heavy violence and blood in it.

Enjoy, face comment. All good things!

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His objective was simple, it always was really. Kill the target. After several years in the assassin business, was a just a days work. Dignitaries, high ranking clergy, diplomats, world leaders, the list went on and on. Honestly, Oliver was considered somewhat of a specialist when dealing with those cases. He was quick, effective and left little mess behind to clean up, a true professional. This case though was very special, to say the least.

Oliver had never killed a Nation Representative before.

He moved through the house like a quiet cat, prowling, looking around every corner. He half expected that oaf she called a brother to pop out any moment. Or that shy boy, whose name always escaped him, to come play the part of a princely protector. But there was no one, not a soul. Not even one of the umpteen dogs they insisted on having around the house. It was silent, oddly, unnervingly silent. Oliver was on guard. It did cross his mind that they had been warned to stay away, a polite courtesy, but that they had listened gave him doubt.

They both claimed to love her but in the end they both deserted her to die alone? It didn't make any sense, whatsoever. However, by the time Oliver reached the top of the stairs and was creeping dangerously close to the bedroom, his doubt had fled him. They really had abandoned her as a lost cause. He creaked open the door and made his way to the bed where the once proud nation slept alone. This had to have been the simplest mission he had been on. And here he was hoping for a challenge at least.

He climbed into the bed without upsetting the covers and then straddled the young nation. She was beautiful, her long silver hair was loosely braided in pigtails for sleep, her lips were slightly parted in a delicate snore, and she stirred only slightly with the extra weight. What a shame. It was just the way the world works, he supposed shrugging to himself as he pulled out his weapon, a terrible loss for a fruitless reason. It wasn't his job to debate her fate.

It was his job to dip his lengthy dagger into Prussia's heart. Erasing the nation from existence.

He positioned the dagger right under her left breast, in order to push it in and upwards, a technique he used when he wanted to play with his victim a bit. He smiled lovingly, imagining the pain it would cause, she would live for hours after, but it was a fatal nick to an important artery. With her nation strength having wasted away over the past few weeks, she was mortal more or less. Perhaps it would take a few more hours than normal for it to finally kill her. A fine work, if he had to say so himself. He moved to push, but at that moment, he heard a clicking noise and felt a cold barrel on his forehead.

"Ksesese, you didn't think I would go down without a fight, did you?" Prussia smiled at him, pleasant, nonchalant. Like she wasn't about to die. Oliver returned it with an equally pleasant smile.

"I hoped you would, poppet." In just seconds, the quiet calm of the bedroom turned into a cacophony of chaos.

Oliver managed to move microseconds before Prussia fired, it hit him in the shoulder as he ducked off the bed. She moved in quick flicks, Oliver scrambled to his feet surprised to see that she had such energy. She should have been feeling ill, for weeks now, wasting away. However, she was agile and lively, jumping like a cat off the bed. Oliver was caught off guard, dangerously so. He had to get out of the room and regroup. The Brit raced for the door and exploded into the hall, a bullet hitting the wall behind him.

He raced downstairs, two at a time, bullets flying past his head as he rapidly thought out a plan. Incapacitate. That was the only way, he dove behind a high backed arm chair and pulled out several smaller throwing daggers. As soon as she came into view, he threw it with precision. Her yell of pain told him he had hit his mark, her upper thigh.

But a bullet through the back of the chair, gazing his arm told him it hadn't slowed her down a bit.

Oliver's feet struggled to gain traction on the idiotic area rug placed over the perfectly decent hardwood. This was frustrating. He was supposed to be the one in command. He should be watching her writhe in pain, dying at his fingertips, a nation falling. Instead, he was sliding into the dining room, running from chair to chair as bullets flew. He flung another knife but it missed. The wooden chair exploded into bits and a fist came flying through the wreckage, catching him in the face.

Oliver spit blood onto the ground and flicked his wrist, running a blade into her shoulder. Her left arm fell limp, tendons cut, no longer able to control that arm. He pushed hard knocking her back allowing him time to run to the next room. With an arm out of commission, she couldn't reload that pistol of hers. Once she was out of bullets, she was done.

The foyer, just a large stretch of decorated hallway space, nothing to hide behind. He whipped around to see her barreling down on him. There was no time to pull out any more daggers, she slammed him against the wall. Her forearm was pressing hard into his throat, Oliver coughed and sputtered for air, kicking his feet wildly.

She grinned at him, "Not as awesome as I had heard rumors about." She quipped, lightheartedly enough, as if it were just a pleasant game of tag. But there, in her eyes, he saw it. The unmistakable sign of exhaustion taking over. It was subtle, but he seized on it all the same.

"I could say the same, dearie." He coughed, smiling to match hers. "So, you have been ill? How are you feeling now? This is no doubt taxing-"

"Shut up, I-I'm fine!"

He felt her arm loosen a slight bit of its hold on his throat. She was nearing her breaking point. Perfect.

"No, I'm afraid you aren't. It's time this ended, don't you think? You've had a good run, be a good girl and die for us now."

"I'm not just going to roll over und die! I-I can't! I-I won't!" Her gripped slackened more, he slipped his hand into his pocket. Just a few more moments and she would be his.

"Is that why you told your boyfriend, I'm sorry, Canadia, was it? Anyway, you told him and your brother not to be here tonight, correct? So they wouldn't see how easily you die?" He asked. Oh, he had touched a nerve there. Her face read with a mixture of emotions. Rage, sadness, pain, regret. All on display in glorious fashion.

"His name is Canada und you call this easy? I'm going to spill your guts all over this floor und let the dogs eat you!"

With a timing that could only have been ordained by a higher power, Oliver flicked his long dagger out of his pocket at the same time she did. The two blades pierced their respective targets in unison. Pain flashed through Oliver's body radiating from his abdomen. It took his breath away, surely, but it was nothing compared to the look of pain on Prussia's face. Her face twisted with shock and unmistakable pain. Blood flowed from her stomach, around the knife, which he gave a hearty twist to. She gasped and released her hold on his throat.

She was his now.

Oliver twisted again, bringing her to her knee's. Guiding her gently to the floor, he laid her down and straddled her again, swinging his leg over her body delicately. With a quick pull, he pulled the dagger out of himself and tossed it lightly in the air, admiring it fondly.

"Who will be spilling who's guts? Now, while my wound will heal, yours- well, I've been told your healing and regeneration powers are at an all-time low, yes?" He asked cheerfully. She gave him a single nod, blood beginning to trickle out of her mouth. "Ah good. The last of your people, the proud Prussian's, have died. You know what that means."

"I'm n-next."

"Right again, poppet! With no one to remember you, besides the nations you interacted with, you have begun dying. You are every bit as mortal now as the next human." He pushed his dagger further in to prove his point. She screamed, kicking her feet, his body weight prevented her hips from bucking. "The powers that be wanted your death to come at the hands of your brother, but I so graciously stepped in. Not to save his conscious, no nothing of the sort, I just wanted this golden opportunity to kill a nation. I-"

Prussia spit blood in his face, "D-do you ever fucking s-shut up?" She wheezed, glaring at him. Taking out his handkerchief, he wiped his face clean and beamed.

"In fact, I do." He flicked the dagger out of her, ripping her side open, creating a long, terrifyingly devastating gash across her stomach. She drained of color so fast, he was afraid he had killed her prematurely. He placed it back under her left breast, the tip just piercing the skin. "When I go in for the kill. Would you like to call someone, say goodbye?" He asked, his voice menacing, dangerous.

"I've said m-my goodbyes." She whispered, shaking her head.

Without another word, he pushed. Breaking the skin completely and sliding into her heart with a force he would liken to America punching someone at full strength. Prussia writhed under him for a few moments, arching her back. She didn't scream, she didn't cry. She merely took it, pain running across her face in waves. It took minutes for her to slow down, blood gushing from her mouth. Oliver watched as her breathing slowed, her eyes slid closed and she ceased moving altogether, her head lolling to the side in final defeat.

Now what came next he was curious about. To be entirely honest, it was why he had taken the job. What happened to a nation once it was dead?

At first, nothing. It was wholly anti-climatic as he climbed off of her body, watching intently. The blood slowly stopped flowing with no heart to pump it, her limbs were limp and her face grew an ashy blue color. Normal. A typical dead body, nothing of note. But then, just as he was about to give up her, her body began to glow. Not a warm soft, orange glow, no. A white glow, as if her skin had secret bioluminescence to it. Around the glow was a dark black ring, pulsing, undulating. Oliver backed away quickly, not knowing what would happen if he were too close.

Oliver watched fascinated as her body lifted from the floor, just a few inches. In a flash, it began changing. Her hair seemed to suck into her head, becoming short and masculine. Her face took on a male visage, her breast retreated into her chest. But then, as quick as she had changed into a man, she was back to female again. Over and over the cycle repeated, faster on each iteration, until Oliver wasn't sure where one began and the other ended.

It stopped suddenly, female Prussia's body hanging limply in the air. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, all he could see was the whites. She turned to him, smirking, as she would have in life.

"Auf Wiedersehen."

There was a burst of white and she was gone, her body completely vanishing. His knife clattered to the floor. All that was left was the blood-soaked ground. Oliver collected his knife and stood up.

"My goodness, poppet. That certainly didn't disappoint."


End file.
